


Backdraft

by thefangirlingdead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, M/M, lots of angsty angst, mentions of Derek's family, mentions of the fire, the sheriff is a flawless human being
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefangirlingdead/pseuds/thefangirlingdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a fire at the Stilinski residence, and when Derek can't get ahold of Stiles, he fears the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backdraft

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a wonderful prompt from [teamfreeadamfromhellsomeday](http://teamfreeadamfromhellsomeday.tumblr.com/) which was supposed to be short and fluffy and turned into 3,000 words of this. Enjoy :]
> 
> Also, Stiles' voicemail was definitely based off of the voicemail that I had for the longest time in middle/high school. It was ridiculous and embarrassing and I thought it suited him pretty well.

Cora is taking _forever_.

She told Derek that she only needed a couple of things from the store, and since he hadn't been out of the house in a couple of days - Beacon Hills is relatively boring without a new mass-murderer or monster terrorizing the town yet - he had decided to drive her, though he _had_ opted to stay in the car while she ran in the store. In his defense, he's only wearing sweatpants and a v-neck (it's been _really_ slow and boring lately, okay?) and he doesn't necessarily want to run into Scott or Isaac or _god forbid_ Stiles dressed like he is. The teasing would never end, especially if it were Stiles. He may be dating the kid, but it doesn't mean he has to put up with his shit _all_ the time.

He glances at the clock in the car which reads 10:52 and sighs. The grocery store closes in eight minutes and Cora has already been in there for at least ten. "Quick trip my ass," He mutters, turning up the radio slightly and closing his eyes, trying to find some form of a distraction, even if he isn't too fond of the song playing. Anything beats then steady and shrill howl of police sirens he keeps hearing off in the distance. Distantly, he reminds himself to watch the news when he gets home, to see what it was all about. Or you know, call Stiles, since he seems to know everything about anything going on at the police station.

As he sits and listens to music, he decides that if Cora isn't out in five minutes, he's going in after her.

He gives her six.

It's 10:58 by the time Derek gets out of the car and walks through the front doors of the grocery store, apologizing to the employee he passes on his way in. If all goes his way, they'll hopefully be out in the next minute.

When Derek rounds the corner to the checkout line, he's actually a little surprised to see his sister standing behind someone, waiting patiently with her basket. He doesn't notice that her gaze is fixed on the television screen just about the cashier's head, and he doesn't notice the way that her skin pales as she watches the news broadcast intently.

"I thought you died," Derek says quietly as he slips into the line next to her, reaching over to grab a Coke and toss it in the basket with the rest of her things. He half expects a witty remark, even something along the lines of _"ha, very funny,"_ but she doesn't say anything, and for some reason, that doesn't sit well with Derek. "What?" He asks, turning to look at her.

Cora doesn't say anything, just points up at the television screen. Her mouth is slack-jawed, and normally Derek would make a snide comment about her finally shutting up, but then he's looking up at the screen and suddenly, everything stands still.

There's a live broadcast of a house fire playing on screen, and while memories of _another_ house fire flash to the forefront of Derek's mind - _oh god he can only imagine how Cora is feeling right now -_ he can't dwell on that because he _recognizes_ the house in the video, being devoured by flames. He's been there countless times, both through the top window next to the tree and through the front door. He's eaten an awkward family dinner there, with the Sheriff breathing down his neck and grilling him about his family and werewolves and his _relationship_ with his son. He's had the breath kissed out of him, upstairs, in second room to the right, while the Sheriff was away at work. ( _Come on, Derek, he won’t be home for hours. I want you, please…)_ He's fallen in love there, he's-

He can't think. He can't even breathe. He needs to see Stiles. He prays for Stiles’ face to come on screen, for the news anchor to say that nobody was in the house when the fire was started. Stiles was supposed to hang out with Scott tonight, _right_? He couldn't have been home. And the Sheriff was working. They were fine, right?

And just like that, his hopes are crushed.

" _Sources say that there may still be someone trapped inside of the building, but it hasn't been confirmed. Firefighters are working hard to clear the house. More details as they unfold_ ," The woman on screen is saying, but her voice sounds far away, as if underwater.

"Der?" Cora is asking, looking up at him now, but he doesn't register her voice. He just stares at the screen, praying that what he's seeing isn't real. "Derek!" She exclaims, grabbing his arm. He glances down at her, but it's like he's looking through her. He can't focus on anything. Everything is in slow motion. "That's not..." She starts, trailing off because she doesn't want to say it. She knows that it is, indeed Stiles' house - she's been there a handful of times, too - but she doesn't want to believe it.

"I need to go," He breaths, "I need to find him."

"I'm coming with," Cora says, actually dropping her basket and following Derek as he rushes blindly out of the store.

By the time they're out the front doors, he's already holding his phone up to his ear, listening to it ring once, twice, three times, and praying that Stiles picks up. That nobody was home. He couldn't be home. He was supposed to be with Scott, _right_?

When he reaches his voicemail-

" _Hey, this is Stiles. I'm probably too lazy to pick up the phone right now, so-"_

\- he immediately hangs up and redials.

_No. No, he's not answering because he and Scott are already on their way there. That's why. It has to be why._

He leaps into the driver's seat and is peeling out of his parking spot before Cora even has a chance to shut her door. 

Stiles' phone goes to voicemail again. He redials and holds the phone, in a death grip, up to his ear.

"Derek," He can hear Cora saying, but she's far away again, "Derek, listen to me! You're going to kill us if you keep driving like this!" She's holding onto the handle on the dashboard, flinching as he swerves into oncoming traffic to pass a slow car.

"I don't care!" He bellows. When Stiles doesn't answer a third time, he throws the phone at the windshield.

"Derek," Cora repeats, voice as calm as she can make it, "Please listen to me." He doesn't say anything, but she continues. "He's fine, okay? He's going to be fine. You said it yourself that he was supposed to be out with Scott tonight, remember?"

She's just trying to make him feel better, and while he'd appreciate it any other time, all he sees right now is deep red rage and pitch black fear. Part of him vaguely registers that he feels just as he had when he got out of school one late fall afternoon to police cars and investigators and firefighters telling him that he couldn’t go home. Part of him is terrified that he's going to lose Stiles the same way that he lost his own family.

_No_. No, he can't. He can't lose someone else, not like this. If he does...

He doesn't want to think about what he'll do.

His hands would be shaking if they weren't gripping the steering wheel so hard. Instead, sharp nails dig into the leather. He's half-shifted, eyes bright blue in the moonlight.

When they reach the road block, Derek is out of the car before he even has a chance to turn it off. He distantly hears Cora calling his name from in the passenger seat, but he ignores it in favor for sprinting through the small crowd of people and cars gathered outside. He runs past the news anchor and almost keeps going until he sees a familiar face. _Isaac._ He's standing next to Allison and they're both watching as an agitated Scott begs a police officer to let them through. "But we know them!" He can hear Scott yelling. If he weren't so blind with his own rage and fear, he'd note that it's angriest he's ever seen Scott. "We know the Sheriff, _please_!"

"We can't let anyone through, Scott," The officer says with a sad look in his eyes, "I'm sorry."

"Scott!" Derek bellows, and the teen turns around immediately. He may be an alpha, but sometimes he still behaves like a beta. "Please tell me he was with you," He mutters, eyes searching his face for good news.

"I-" Scott stutters. He's shaking, struggling not to shift or break down, "He was supposed to be on his way over. We didn't hear from him and-"

Apparently that's all Derek needs to hear before he's shoving in front of Scott and under the yellow police line. The officer tries to stop him, but he's too fast, already striding quickly toward the house. Sure enough, the blue Jeep sits alone in the driveway, untouched.

Derek wants to scream. He wants to die. He wants to run into the burning house and find Stiles. He wants to throttle Scott for not telling him to come over sooner. He wants to-

"Derek," He hears someone calling his name, and it's a voice he recognizes; a voice he's grown to know pretty well over the past few months. A voice that now brings him comfort instead of fear, as it used to. He turns to see the Sheriff, standing off behind the police line, in between two fire trucks and in front of an ambulance. "Derek!" He calls again when all he does is stand there in shock at the sight of him. "Derek, come here!" He's using his Sheriff voice now, and though all Derek wants to do now is run into the burning building, he listens and walks - on numb legs - over to where he stands.

"He- he-" Derek stutters, mind attempting to catch up with what's going on. If he were as alert as he usually is, he'd notice that the Sheriff isn't crying. He _had_ been - his eyes are swollen and red and he smells salty, like tears - but he's not anymore, and that's a good sign.

"He's alright," He says before Derek can assume the worst, "He's fine. Just-" He reaches his hand out, pulling Derek in close, as if to shield him from the burning building. The Sheriff knows all about the Hale fire. He knew long before Stiles told him about werewolves, or before he and Derek started dating, and he knows that staring at the building can't be doing him any good.

"Come here," He murmurs, pulling Derek between the two fire trucks and toward the ambulance. "He's alright," He repeats, though the words just seem to echo around in Derek's head. They don't settle, don't stick, until he rounds the corner and sees Stiles _alive_ and Sitting on the back of the ambulance, feet dangling over the edge, oxygen mask over his face, and blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He's covered in soot and smoke and he's got a few bumps and bruises - maybe even a couple of burns - but nothing too serious, save for the one thick, bloody bandage on his head.

"Jesus," Derek mutters, and before the Sheriff has a chance to stop him - not that he would, seeing the look on his face - he's stumbling forward toward the ambulance until he can see the faint smile in Stiles' eyes, surrounded by black ash, and then he's wrapping him in a tight, warm hug. Faintly, he can hear one of the paramedics telling him to give Stiles space, but thankfully, his father steps in, telling him that it's alright.

He hugs Stiles for what feels like an eternity.

"Hey," He hears stiles rasp over his shoulder, "I'm glad to see you too, but you're sort of crushing me, you big oaf." He sounds like he's been swallowing broken shards of glass, but he's still got that sarcastic bite to his voice. He's still very much _Stiles._ And still very much alive.

Derek pulls back reluctantly, still holding Stiles at arm’s length, afraid that if he lets him go, he'll dissolve into the night. Stiles smiles a crooked smile from behind the oxygen mask before pulling it away from his face. "Missed me?" He whispers in a hoarse voice, cocking his head to the side.

And without warning, Derek lunges forward again, pressing a sound, firm kiss on his lips. Somehow they're bruised too - he can taste blood on his lower lip, seeping out of a small cut - and Derek wants nothing more than to heal him, to make him feel better. He finds himself wishing - not for the first time - that Stiles was a werewolf. He knows he'll deny it later, because he honestly adores Stiles in all of his human awkwardness, but in times like this, he wishes that he'd gotten the bite.

"I thought you were dead," Derek murmurs against Stiles lips when he finally pulls away, pressing their foreheads together.

"Sorry to disappoint. It just would have been such an _ordinary_ way for me to go out," Stiles sasses, and if it were any other time, Derek would smack him. Instead, both the look that Derek _and_ his father give him is enough to wipe the smile off of his face. "Sorry," He repeats, only this time, he means it.

"It's not your fault," Derek says softly, pressing a kiss to his ashy forehead. He closes his eyes tight, trying to hold the tears back, but one slides down his cheek. "I saw the news and I - I thought the worst and-" He lets out a shuddering breath, "Jesus, Stiles, don't do that. Ever again."

"I'll try not to burn my house down again after they rebuild it," He rasps before he's thrown into a coughing fit and is forced to put the oxygen mask back on.

"What happened?" Derek asks, turning to the Sheriff while Stiles closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. They take a few steps away together, giving Stiles his space.

"Gas line," He replies simply, lips in a firm line. He's looking away, up at the flames still licking at the sky. There's no saving the house. By the time the fire is out, Derek is certain that it'll look like his own. "A fucking _gas line_ ," He repeats.

"If it's any consolation, I know the feeling," Derek mutters, even though it's not very fair. Either way, it earns a small smile from the Sheriff. "What happened to him?" He asks after a beat of silence.

"He was downstairs, working on his school project," He answers, glancing back toward where Stiles sits, trying to relax, eyes still closed. He shivers slightly despite the heat radiating off of the house. "Before he could make it out, a beam fell." He shudders, closing his eyes, "If it weren't for the fire department getting here so fast..." He trails off, and Derek is suddenly glad that he didn't finish his thought. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened had they not been there to save him.

He glances back at Stiles as well, chewing on his bottom lip with worry. His fists clench and then unclench. He almost jumps when he feels a hand clap on his shoulder. "He's lucky to have someone like you in his life," Stiles’ father says, and when Derek looks at him, the look on his face is genuine, "You really care about him. He needs that, when I'm not around."

Derek smiles slightly, "That means at lot."

And at that, the Sheriff smiles as well. "I’ve got to say, I never thought I'd be having this conversation with _you_ of all people."

And despite the heaviness in Derek's chest, he manages a slight chuckle.

"I think he needs you," He says softly, and with a small smile, he's leaving Derek alone with his son in favor of pulling one of the paramedics aside to speak with them. When Derek makes his way back over to the ambulance, Stiles is already holding the oxygen mask in his hand, waiting. They don't say anything at first, but Derek takes his hands, running his fingers over Stiles' scraped knuckles. He tries not to imagine him, trapped and terrified while he waited and prayed for the fire department to show up, but it doesn't do him any good.

When he takes Stiles' hand, he concentrates on taking the pain away.

"So you were really worried about me, huh?" Stiles teases slightly. His voice still sounds ragged and rusty, and for a split second, Derek actually wants to slap him.

" _Jesus_ Stiles," He mutters, running a shaky hand though his hair. "I couldn't - I saw the news and I couldn't breathe, I - I couldn't think. I didn't want to imagine life without you, I-" He stammers, " _Fuck,_ Stiles, I _love_ you. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you, I-"

"You _love_ me?" Stiles interrupts, a small but genuine smile playing on his lips. And despite his cuts and bruises and the pain that he's probably in, his eyes light up.

Derek rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I guess I do."

"Say it again," He murmurs, only half teasingly.

At that, Derek leans in, taking Stiles' hands in his own again. "I love you." He presses a kiss to his forehead."I love you." And then another one on his lips, lingering for a long moment, making sure to take some more pain as he does so. " _God_ ," He mutters when he pulls away, "I love you, Stiles."

Stiles smiles against his lips, pressing them together again briefly. "I love you too, Derek."

When they finally part, Derek takes a moment to brush a stray hair out of Stiles face, studying the bandage on his head as he does so. "I should probably go tell everyone you're alright," He murmurs, "The gang's all here."

Stiles smiles slightly in response, "I'll be here."

Derek kisses him again quickly before moving to walk away, but not before Stiles calls his name one last time, causing him to turn around. When he does, the teen is wearing a smirk across his face, tilting his head to the side.

"Nice sweatpants, lazy-ass."


End file.
